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Bardo Dec 2018
Maybe it was a dream, maybe not, I can't remember now
Walking homeward across town
Suddenly there came this fog in from the sea
It covered the harbour and the streets, enveloping everything
   so it seemed
A fog so thick...so dense, I'd never seen its like before
All you could see was the slow drip of car headlights
As they'd emerge from out of the street next to me
Eventually I had to stop, I couldn't go on, couldn't see anymore
It was like everything had just faded away until all that was left,
   all that was left there... was me
But then - suddenly! Looking up. There! Right above me
The huge spire of a Church, towering up,
Like it was coming out of the clouds
I was amazed... awestruck
"Surely this was it" I thought, "surely I'd found it
(That which had been lost... lost for so long)
The Church at the End of the World looking down on all
    Eternity",
Even now after all those years I still had a memory of you
You were there... right at the beginning, right at the start, you
   were there
Those nights when I slept as a little child
You used come to me, come to me in the quiet, in the still of
   the night
I used enter and roam your hallowed halls...look out on your
   golden city...with eyes wide with wonder
It all started to come back to me
I grew excited, so excited
Because I knew! I remembered! I recognised you still!
You were there, all there just like you had been all those years
   ago
And you were the same, the exact same, you hadn't changed in
   any way
I saw the old familiar road down to you open up before me
And then the Bridge across appear
And then entering through your Gates
My heart it leapt inside me and my eyes they were filled with
   tears
I'd found it...found you again
The Church at the End of the World.
Mystical poem. A bit like the Twilight Zone this.
J L James Nov 2018
Memories
are like fire,
they can execute
or inspire,
satiate
cooked on a plate,
deforest
when
filled with hate.
Running like lava
through
varicose veins,
embers smolder
ready to ignite,
or extinguish the
remembrance.
Exploring the power of memories.
SangAndTranen Nov 2018
Today upon these very fields
Meadows of green and flowers yield
As breeze stops dead and from the leaves
Comes a young girl in khaki green.
Her dress is light, and her song is sweet
As she picks her way on dainty feet.

But she is not the first to trek
Through fresh-scented woods with curling breath
In khaki green amidst the sea
Of indigo and white and brightest green.

For as she scrabbles amongst dirt and stone
She finds in her hand to be a bone.
Unknowing of the man that shed it like
A moulting woodlark born for flight.

Unknowing too is she of the dew
That clings to blades of grass as slew
Were brothers of flesh and blood and heart.
What once was clouded red is glass.

She rises as the night descends,
Skips home with grubby hands and dress
But she is the only one in khaki green
Whom after those woods was ever seen.

The forest left to whistle and sway
Waits for the girl tomorrow-day
When she will escape its clutches once more
Dancing on the graves of twenty-four.
A very belated Remembrance Day poem.
cassie marie Nov 2018
i want you to remember me.
I want to be known as the girl who lit the fire in your cold, cold, cold heart.
I want to be remembered as the girl who was so care free and happy-go-lucky.
I want to be remembered as the one who showed you what it was like to truly be in love with someone.
I want to be the girl who helped you remember what it was like to enjoy and learn to love the stupid things.
Like walking in the rain, or watching the same movie over and over again just to keep feeling certain emotions, or how i helped you learn how to write strong, meaningful poetry.
I want to be the reason that you do certain things, like write your emotions out, or read certain books again, or listen to new artists and songs because i love them.
i want to be the reason you fall in love again.
so i broke up with my boyfriend lol
Emma Nov 2018
If I told you about my November would you tell me about yours?
You always said these things get easier with time, but I’m still waiting.
I’ll mark today down in all my calendars and I’ll get back to you.
3 years wasn’t long enough to forget.
As much as I want to love you, I can’t stand your pity,
And I can’t stand my own fear.
All of my heroes become my villains,
And I’m desperate for something to believe in
Now that I can’t believe in you.
I learned the hard way that I can’t rely too heavily on anyone,
Because once I do they get scared and they leave.
The things that scar me are the things that will scare you
And you will leave too.
Word Hobo Nov 2018
Look!
now they sleep      bloodless warriors
pandemonium stilled      agony slain tranquil
death sanctified in rigid cartesian rows
honored for their sacrifice and selfless valiance
laid to rest beneath mourning grasses

Ask!
where was the higher honor due them      before war
are sacred vows      to be profaned      to be misemployed
                            
Why!
do once verdurous lives lay cold and pulseless
as spatters of red petals      tearfully fall
families breathing wistful flowers
distilling rue      with lulling scents

Adjudge!
all men      who enact lies
dishonoring crossed graves
greed calibrating scales of injustice
bodies tilted high by tonnages of gold
Aurelian kisses      vaulting wars riches

Do Not!
dishonor a warrior’s willingness to die
for bravados mouth is a soldier’s tomb
do not forsake truth and honor    our only faithful ally
ask ten-thousand whys      before one soldier dies
before the bugler's breath      sounds death's lamenting cries

Think!
Contemplate war’s fiery womb
hatred    born inextinguishable
good & evil     indistinguishable

Look, what stillborn bones lie locked in battle
this fleshless monster      we mis-named peace        


gv.2014


Matthew 6:13 . . . deliver us from “evil”
Evil as translated in 6:13 is "Poneros" A name also attributed to Satan
Which means:  "he is not content unless drawing others into the same destruction as himself"
(From Lexicon to the New Testament by Spiros Zodhiates, TH.D

"Soon
the world
won’t have a rib intact.
And its soul will be pulled out."

A line from Vladimir Mayakovsky's 1917 poem , Call To Account

“They made a wasteland and called it peace” Publius Cornelius Tacitus
They trained hard for this,
Sacrificing themselves for others.
Something that strong is tough to dismiss,
Becoming each other’s sisters and brothers.

They fight so we can live free,
Wearing different colors of camouflage.
Yet, we disgrace them by taking a knee.
That, to me, is the ultimate sabotage.

They are our fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers,
Even our friends and neighbors.
So let’s remember them, as we do others.
As we rest from all our labors.

Remember those that have and continue to serve,
On this eleventh of November, it's the least they deserve.
A tribute to those who have served/are serving.
Nicholas Booth Nov 2018
The middle of nowhere reminds me of you
a place with no commotion
with a soft, grey hue
And when it grows brighter
that is your cue
to sneak up on me
reminding me that it was you
Quick write as I pass an abundance of nothingness, overwhelming feelings and overwrought thoughts swirling in my head
Ah! Men

              Aargh! Men

Armed men
  Harmed men
   Jarred men
     Marred men
      Scarred men

Scared men

****** men

Their men
Your men
Our men
                                                        
                                                           AMEN

©pofacedpoetry – Billy Reynard-Bowness (2018) – all right’s reserved
In remembrance of ALL who died in conflict
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